Night Kings: The Complete Anthology (39 page)

Lukas tried to be that better man and he
rushed out from the back alley, but again Remus was there to hold
him back.

“What did I say about going off halfcocked?”
the vampire king whispered into his ear. “You won’t make it and
you’ll seal my fate along with you.”

Lukas struggled to fight back, and while the
young werewolf gained the freedom he desired, but found it came at
considerable cost. It felt like slight pinpricks across all of his
unclothed body, pins that delved further and further until he
couldn’t move a muscle.

“They’re going to kill him,” Lukas growled
through lips now strewn shut by threads of shroud. “We have to do
something…”

“We will,” assured Remus, and with the wave
of his hand, he saw all the thin strands of shroud recoil from the
frame of Lukas Wendish. “But it will be done only when the time is
right. Not a moment before. You hear me, boy?”

Remus watched in astonishment as the hundreds
of deep tissue wounds Lukas endured healed before his eyes.
Unfortunately for the vampire king, the loss of the werewolf’s many
lesions would see Lukas emboldened.

He’d been kicked once too many times tonight.
He knew what the man in black was trying to do and he’d have none
of it. The wars for dominance in Salem were over. That’s what his
father had been trying to instill in him from the beginning. That’s
the way he’d carried the pack forward. If the vampires wanted to
follow suit then the vampire king would have to do it of his own
accord.

Lukas thrust his claws deep into the chest of
Remus, looked him straight in his undead eyes, and said, “Listen
here, vampire. You don’t own me. You don’t own Salem. You can live
here and throw as many parties as you want at your mansion, but
bare your teeth to one more werewolf and I’m liable to come back
and finish the job.”

“Is that so?” Remus’ laughter echoed
throughout the alleyway, but as the otherworldly fingers of black
shroud closed around the wrists of his opponent, that laughter
began to take on a fervent temperament.

Remus enjoyed this show of force, reviled in
its madness, and when Lukas tried to sink in deeper he found his
hands did the opposite. Stronger than either the vampire or the
werewolf was the unnatural blackness that few in this world
understood, fewer controlled.

Lukas resisted the pull as long as he could
before he finally gave up in frustration. He pulled back sharply,
and with that action, saw the shroud dissipate from his wrists.
Before either could think to continue their skirmish between
rounds, the swirled mass of black above them decided the time was
right to act.

The cracks of thunders came this time from
the dark skies above, one after the other, until the silence
between bangs was muddled somewhere in between the explosions of
sound and natural might. For each one of those cracks from above
there was a bolt of lightning that centered on the city street
nearby. They dropped from the sky with such ferocity and force that
the ground below became marked by a large circle.

Then the last bolt fell and everything went
white for those massed along 1
^st
Street. Both Lukas and
Remus had rushed to the alley entrance to gaze upon the
supernatural force, but neither could bear the brunt of the impact.
Lukas shielded his eyes, but it was a light that proved too intense
for the eyes of one best kept from the sun.

“I don’t believe it,” Lukas said after he’d
finally removed his forearm to take stock of his surroundings.
“They’re here.”

“Tell me! What’s happening? I demand to
know!”

Lukas turned to tell Remus the current
happenings on the ground, but the vampire king was nowhere to be
found in the alleyway. He was left alone. That suited Lukas
fine.

“There goes my undead ball and chain,” said
Lukas, with the last smile his face would see for some time. He put
those thoughts out of his head and rushed into the street where the
concentrated sphere of lightning bore down into the pavement.

Another bright flash hit Lukas that caused
him to stumble backwards to the ground. The whirled mass of black
clouds began to shrink back into the sky above and soon it’d left
this world as quickly as it appeared. When he gaze drifted
downward, Lukas found that many resided within the tower of light
and they came to battle.

It was Cetra Altaras, flanked by Gemma Kohl
and Elsa Dukane, and they were surrounded by dozens of hooded
sisters armed with only their hands. The Sisters of Salem set to
their work immediately and set to stir up the elements in order to
exact their fury.

The Sisters of Salem had known about the
existence of their goddess’ other children since before the witch
trials. It was one of the few stories that remained in their
possession. It spoke of the dark ones in times before that the
goddess sought to temper into warriors of divinity. The warlocks
betrayed their unknown goddess and set fire to the world around
them, armed with gifts that never should’ve been bestowed.

A great force field was erected atop the
mountains and sealed the Sunkeeper Temple off from all that would
brave the dangerous paths to its peak. With their home lost to
them, the warlocks left the New World aboard their wooden armada
and sought to find a place where they belonged.

Time passed for the land and the horrors the
natives knew at the hands of the Vikings were forgotten; but soon
European settlers would come and the process began anew. War spread
and soon it became impossible for the goddess to watch without
reaction.

Her protective measures were dropped and a
select few were chosen for what would one day become the Sisters of
Salem and the Sisters of Charleston. They were to be guardians of
the filthy, the broken, and the poor. Only, the world didn’t accept
the sisters of the goddess. Not like the she hoped they would.

They were called witches and harpies,
ostracized for their differences, cursed, and spat upon. They were
prosecuted for those gifts, set on fire, held under water, and
forced to abandon all notions of friend of family. The New World
wasn’t for them. In the end that was the message and the sisters
received it loud and clear.

Those days were upon them once more and the
sisters could no longer stand back and watch it all unfold in the
shadows. The witches, above all others, should’ve known the truth
behind the darkness, but they became blinded by their seclusion.
They barely knew of the world around them and relied too much on
spoon-fed information from the other supernatural races. It was
time for Cetra Altaras to make a change. While one could still be
made.

With a sizzling crack of thunder, the high
priestess’ finger burst into an arching blast of lightning that
tore through the middle of the black horde. Her shot signaled her
sisters to do the same, and soon, both sides erupted into elemental
warfare.

Lukas dodged a few stray projectiles that
came his way, but it seemed the warlocks had forgotten about him.
He would make sure that proved to be a costly mistake. In the
circle he could see a stone-faced Elsa Dukane. She wasn’t the least
interested in defense and stood there motionless while fire rained
down on them.

None of the sisters seemed to care that they
stood coverless on the streets. The firepower the warlocks sent
their way was negated upon impact of the scorched circle the
lightning cared into the earth. Someone, likely their goddess, lent
the Sisters of Salem their power and the sisters intended to see it
properly put to use.

Lukas couldn’t believe it. Where the vampires
and the werewolves failed, the sisters led the way. “Well I’ll be
damned. That’s one hell of an entrance.”

With the warlocks unable to penetrate their
supernatural barrier they could either fall or flee as the elements
were hurled against them. Since no berserker had ever fled a battle
before, the warlocks at the forefront chose to die with honor.
Fewer and fewer the masses of black became until not a single one
of them was left standing.

“Elsa!” shouted Lukas as he neared the front
lines. “You did it! I knew you’d find them!”

He could’ve yelled as loud as he wanted and
it wouldn’t have made any difference. The unknown girl wasn’t on
this world. She was lost to the sight before her and not a single
thing Lukas said would have gotten through. Elsa broke from the
ranks of the sisters and headed towards the clump of white on the
fringe of the road.

“Father!” her cry broke out amid the flames
that spread all over. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay!”

Elsa passed the threshold of the scorched
earth and kept her eyes on her father as she pounded down the
street. It was a reunion not meant to take place and a sudden shift
in wind triggered events that split father from daughter for a
second time in one night.

“Look out!” Gemma hollered in distress, but
it was already too late. “Elsa—!”

Events had already been put in motion in
regards to Elsa Dukane. A weight was thrust against Elsa that
displaced her feet from the ground. She crashed against the
sidewalk, her fall broken by the wrapped arms of Lukas Wendish.

Her heart fluttered from the sudden rush of
love Elsa had for her father, but none of that compared to the
floodgates that would open for her next. A panel van soared through
the air above 1
^st
Street and struck the shield that
protected the sisters from harm. The car exploded into a fiery
wreck, but none of the damaged seemed to pierce the scorched
earth.

Every one of their supernatural fears soon
came into fruition as another mass of robed berserkers turned to
meet them in the street. These warlocks were led by one familiar to
all, free from any type of wound that might accompany being buried
alive.

It was a bald-headed Hans Brackhaus that led
the charge against the monsters this time. He alone walked into the
Sunkeeper chamber before it fell. It rekindled his connection to
the powers of the ancients and saw his powers increased beyond
measure. He commanded those gathered by his side to open fire on
the sisters, and once again, all hell broke out upon the streets of
Salem.

The few vehicles parked in the street were
used by Hans to strike at the shield above while his brothers
pummeled it from below. It started with a bolt of lightning that
narrowly missed one of the sisters, but soon more elemental
projectiles began to pass through the scorched circle.

“Find cover in the back alleys!” the high
priestess said with her long, chestnut hair blown back from the
pressure unleashed in her hands. “There will be no heroes! Do all
of you hear that? I want no goddamn heroes in my coven!”

While her sisters moved back for cover Cetra
pressed forward against the brotherhood that raced down
1
^st
Street.

“I’ve got your back,” Gemma Kohl said from
behind a bus stop sign. “Let me lend you my strength.”

“No,” barked Cetra, “hold your ground! This
battle is mine!”

This was the goddess’ downfall. Not hers.
Yet, the high priestess took it upon her all the same. Cetra would
see the goddess’ plan corrected and it would be by her hand or none
other.

Lukas Wendish stood apart from the fray with
his arms wrapped around Elsa. She fought him all the while, but his
grip held firm as the street erupted into chaos. The war between
the witches and the warlocks was unlike anything he’d seen before.
All the colors of the rainbow were thrown back and forth between
the two sides while warlocks and witches took to cover behind
alleyways, bus stops, and what few vehicles still remained grounded
to the road. The witches, once stoic and seemingly incapable of
harm, appeared less like the mystical naturists Lukas always
imagined. Now they took the shape of Amazonian commandos, armed
with weapons of elemental mass destruction.

Cetra Altaras never wanted this war, but it
wouldn’t be the first time war had come to the Sisters of Salem.
They knew persecution over the years and they knew it well, but not
once did the sisters crumble under the weight of the goddess and
her clandestine plans.

With hands ablaze she struck down warlock
after warlock on the street as she moved forward towards the center
of the black horde. That plan came unraveled with a sudden burst of
black smoke that appeared in front of her.

It was Hans Brackhaus that came for the high
priestess and in both his hands was a claymore that burned with the
fires of his kind. He rushed towards Cetra with that sword raised
above his bald head. A fireball was hurtled in his direction, but a
slice from his imbued sword saw the attack deflected.

“Long have I waited for this meeting,” Hans
said. He took a horizontal swipe at his brown robed opponent and
when it missed he took another one. “Working beside you all those
years… forced to keep my true nature from you… and lesser
beings.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Cetra
said as her svelte frame missed the blade yet again.

Cetra wanted him closer when he finally took
the bait, but when he took yet another hefty cleave with his
claymore, she pressed her advantage and walked straight through
Hans’ assault. She struck him across the chin that caused an
explosion to spread across the warlock’s face.

“I’m going to send you to your goddess in a
hundred pieces,” Hans shouted at the top of his lungs, “you
miserable witch!”

The right side of his face was burned beyond
recognition, but that didn’t stop the self-proclaimed king of the
warlocks from his endless blitz of steel and fire. Cetra might’ve
been faster, but Hans fought with powers that went unknown for many
years. They built Salem, alongside Victor Dukane and the deceased
Bernhard Wendish, and while Hans knew the truth behind Cetra’s
human veneer she remained in the dark for all those years. Hans
played her. He played them all. And he did it from the start.